


"Sorrowing, Sighing, Breathing, Dying"

by farad



Series: Christmas Carols [11]
Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 03:24:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farad/pseuds/farad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>December 29</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Sorrowing, Sighing, Breathing, Dying"

**Author's Note:**

> Set the Christmas after "Obsession"; thanks to Huntersglenn and Dail for the beta. Thanks also to Zeke Black and her awesome Magnificent Seven Handbook, with transcripts, pictures of the clothes the boys wore, and every thing else, and the people at Daybook for their quick answers to my specific detail needs! All mistakes my very own.
> 
> ETA - including a misspelled title. Thanks to HG for catching it!

_**"Myrrh is mine, its bitter perfume** _

_**Breathes of life of gathering gloom** _

_**Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying** _

_**Sealed in the stone-cold tomb"** _

 

– from "We Three Kings of Orient Are", verse seven,

written in 1857 by Rev. John Henry Hopkins

 

 

 

 

 

Chris lifted the ax, bringing it back as far as he could. His shoulders pulled, his back hurt, but worst was his chest. It was tight, so tight that he could barely catch his breath. He staggered, shifting his weight forward, straining – and brought the ax forward and down. It hit with a thud, cracking the wood in half. They weren't even halves, but it was split.

 

He took a deep breath, the dizziness slowly fading. When the black spots stopped dancing in front of his eyes, he bent over and picked up the largest piece, placing it on the chopping block so he could split it in half.

 

Then he started the ritual over again.

 

He'd been at it for a while, long enough for the sun to climb into the sky, long enough for his shirt, over his longjohn top, to be covered in sweat. Long enough to finally drop the ax behind his back, when the blackness almost took him.

 

He leaned forward, taking deep breaths, holding himself up by strength of will. By the image of her neck on that chopping block, under the ax blade.

 

That was the image that had gotten him through these last days. It was one he would pull up when the image of Sara came to mind, Sara smiling as she stared at the Christmas tree she had just finished decorating, Sara holding Adam up to see his first Christmas snow, Sara and Adam playing with his toys on Christmas morning.

 

It hurt a hell of a lot less to think of the woman who had taken that from him, the woman who had duped him, tricked him, almost killed the six men who rode with him, had killed the two people who'd defined his world.

 

When he caught his breath, he leaned down and gathered up the wood, or as much as his aching arms could hold. The walk back to the cabin seemed to take forever, as if he'd been miles away from it instead of mere yards. It took so long that the sweat on his back cooled, leaving him shivering by the time he got inside.

 

To find that his fire had gone out.

 

He put the wood on the floor beside the wood stove and dropped to his knees in front of it, pulling open the door. The embers burned orange-red, not out but not as hot as he wanted them to be. He reached for the fire iron, thinking to stir them around, but the iron was trapped under the wood he'd just put down and it was a struggle to get it free.

 

It didn't take him long to give up and lean back against the legs of one of small bench that sat before his table. He was tired. Tired and angry, tired and sad, and just damned tired. He hurt, mostly from the things he'd been doing these past few days, the things he'd used as a distraction: he'd fixed the fence where a tree had fallen on it, hauled in as much hay as he could still buy from anyone who had it to sell, repaired several shingles that had blown off the roof of the barn and then the roof of the cabin, and he'd cut wood. The sudden cold snap had brought with it ice and wind, and it had taken more wood than he'd prepared to keep his cabin heated. The icy rain on Christmas Eve had led to ice and bitter cold on Christmas Day, with more icy rain yesterday. It was clear now, but he could feel the pattern in his aching bones, in the place where that damned bullet had broken ribs: more rain tomorrow, with ice.

 

Christmas was over, a voice whispered in his mind. It sounded a lot like Buck's, which made some sense, as Buck had been here on the 27th, two days ago. 'I came for me, not you,' he'd said, setting the bottle of whiskey on the table and settling himself in without invitation. 'My ma spent her holidays with the people she cared most about, and I realized today that that's what I've done most of my life too – right up until you and Vin started disappearing on me. So I decided to hunt your asses down – he ain't here? I was hoping it'd be easy.'

 

Chris shook his head at the memory. It was hard to be angry with Buck, though he'd tried. He didn't want company, didn't want anyone taking the edge off his anger. Buck hadn't stayed long, half a bottle's worth, then Chris had pointed him in the direction he'd last seen Vin heading. Which hadn't been that long ago either; Vin had been the first of the six to stop by, on Christmas Eve. He hadn't come of his own choosing, but to deliver a loaf of bread from Mary. He hadn't tried to cajole Chris or even make him feel better, just said what he needed to say and been on his way.

 

Something Chris respected. Something they had in common.

 

Nathan had been next, on Christmas Day, on his way to the Seminole Village. A quick stop, with no fussing – he hadn't even asked how Chris was feeling or what he was doing. He'd left a gift of his own, a bottle of arnica balm, for aches. Then he'd gone.

 

Ezra had shown up on the 26th, taking his horse out for exercise. He'd told Chris of Casey's gift to JD, the celebration of the Boxing Day tradition JD's mother had started. Ezra had started a pool, he said, for the wedding day, and he was now taking dates, did Chris want to get in?

 

Chris had not, but somewhere around the middle of the brandy bottle – it had been damned fine brandy, and he was pretty sure it was the same Ezra had had the year before – Chris had put in a bet. It worried him; he wasn't superstitious by nature, but given his own luck as of late, his own cursed demon, he wondered if he was passing the curse on to JD, if such a thing were possible.

 

The 28th, yesterday, had seen Josiah, early in the morning, before the icy rain had started. He was out checking on the outlying houses, to make sure everyone was prepared for the next round of bad weather. He'd reported that the town was calm, no trouble, most everything was back to normal, though Inez still had poinsettias in the saloon.

 

He hadn't asked about Chris' plans, whether he was coming back soon. Hadn't suggested that Chris needed to anything other than what he was doing now.

 

None of them had. They hadn't offered to help him, to do anything, to counsel him – anything. They hadn't even offered to cut his goddamned wood.

 

Not that he wanted them to. He didn't want them up under him at all – Ella Gaines had tried to kill them all once, because of him. The idea that she would try it again was almost guaranteed as far as he was concerned. The less they were around him, and he, them, the better.

 

He needed to get the hell away from here. Needed to find that bitch and put her in the ground before she could hurt anyone else he cared about.

 

Because no matter how angry he was, no matter how much he hurt physically, no matter how much he missed Sara and Adam, he couldn't stop worrying about the other six he rode with. Buck who had been with him through thick and thin for more years now than either could truly remember, who'd seen him at his worst and his best; Vin who understood him and who he understood as if they'd been cut from the same cloth, though one cloth was rough wool and the other finely honed leather, who'd seen him at his worst and probably never would see him again at his best; Ezra, whose twists of mind were like a complex puzzle, one that fascinated Chris because they were so like his own ways of thinking; Nathan, who, for the horror of his past, seemed to share the closest ideal of family, the one of blood - parents and siblings - as well as the one a man chose and made for himself; Josiah, a man who had no need or reason to follow Chris yet he did, of his own will, and because of – or in spite of? - his own faith, a faith that Chris couldn't understand; and JD, so young, so much of life ahead of him, who believed in what they did for the town, believed that it was justice and truth and so many other shiny ideals that Chris no longer believed in.

 

JD, who reminded Chris of all the things that he had once thought, that he had once wanted, the things that he had lost.

 

JD who had yet to come out here -

 

As if on cue, there was a voice calling from outside, repeating Chris' name.

 

Chris drew a deep breath, forcing himself to get to his knees, then to his feet.

 

He walked out onto the porch, his hand on his gun though he didn't pull it. JD and Casey sat on their horses, looking at each other, not at the house, not behind them, not even around.

 

Chris had a thought about pulling his gun and firing into the air, scaring JD so that he'd learn to pay attention in all situations. Especially one in which he'd brought his wif – the woman he loved. One in which he might stupidly leave Casey behind, unprotected, a ready target for an insane woman who would send someone to kill her -

 

"Chris?"

 

He stared, swallowing, pushing away the thought, the gut-wrenching idea that JD would suffer the same thing he had – it wasn't possible, as far as he knew, JD had never dated anyone, though he had had that run-in with the crazy Maddie Stokes but she was dead – wasn't she? What if -

 

"Chris!" the voice was closer now, so close he could feel the breath of it on his cheek, the cold hands grabbing at his -

 

"It's Casey – Chris, take a deep breath!"

 

He opened his eyes, realized he was sitting on his ass on his own porch and that Casey was kneeling beside him, holding one of his hands while lightly slapping at his face with the other. In the background, he could see JD trying to get water out of the well, which was mostly frozen.

 

He opened his mouth to say that but instead of words coming out, a rush of air went in. His chest burned, and the grey at the edge of his vision drained away, leaving color in such clarity that it made his head hurt.

 

He took another breath, not as deep, not quite as painful and then he nodded once, and said, or tried to say, "I'm all right."

 

Casey stared at him, her gaze as hard and sharp as his mother's. As Sara's. "You need to come back to town," she said quietly, and he understood that she was talking to him, not to JD. "You need to eat and get some rest. And to get warm."

 

He opened his mouth to argue, but she shook her head, once, and something in the movement was so familiar that it made his heart hurt.

 

"There are six men back there who almost died for you," she hissed, "six men who are now waiting for you to come back and lead them. They care about you – the whole town does. The only one who doesn't seem to care about you is you, Chris Larabee. You want to go after her? That's fine – we all back you up. But you can't do that if you're hurting yourself this way. Stop trying to do it alone. All you're going to do is get yourself killed and all the guys who are going to come after you, even if you don't want them to. Do what you're good at: lead."

 

"Casey?" JD called. "I can't get the water – you two all right?"

 

She stared into his eyes, and for a few seconds, all he could see was Sara.

 

Then she turned away and Chris closed his eyes trying to clear the image. The memory.

 

"Drink this," she said, pressing a cold metal mug into his hand. He didn't argue, taking a long sip of icy water. It, too, took his breath, but he couldn't stop drinking.

 

After a time, he slowed to breathe and eventually, he got his fill. Lowering the mug, he blinked and stared at her and past her to where JD was hovering.

 

JD had almost died. He'd shot the Neauhaus woman, almost left them, then he'd been shot himself. By that same mad woman he'd remembered from earlier, Maddy Stokes. Who was dead.

 

If their lives were parallel, if JD was bound to take up the curse that Chris was still bearing, then maybe he was already shed of it. Maddy Stokes was dead, and Casey was still alive, right here in front of Chris, kneeling in her worn trousers and heavy riding coat.

 

And Casey – well, Casey wasn't Sara. She had grown up, too, in this past year. Of course she had; she loved JD and she had Nettie and Gloria Potter and Mary Travis as teachers. Strong women who were standing on their own, too.

 

JD hadn't had the past Chris had had. Another time, another place – and hopefully, another life. A safer one, as soon as Chris found Ella Gaines.

 

They all would.

 

He drew a breath and got himself together, planning to get to his feet. But Casey's grip tightened on his hand, the one she was still holding. She looked back at him, her eyes burning with the same fire they had two minutes ago,the same fire that made her words come out in Sara's voice.

 

"They won't let you do it alone, and if you try to do it without them, they'll get themselves killed trying to find you, trying to save you. They've already tried." She leaned in close, so close that he could feel the words as she said them. "Lead them, don't run away from them."

 

He leaned back to look at her, but she was already up and on her feet. "JD, we need to saddle his horse – can you do that - "

 

"I can saddle my own damned horse," he said shortly, moving to get up. But as he did, his balance gave way and he fell back on his ass on the porch. She towered over him, her hands crossed over chest, just looking at him. Then she arched one eyebrow.

 

It had taken Sara several years to learn that look.

 

He sighed. "JD, would you mind saddling my horse?"

 

JD was already trotting across the yard.

 

For her part, Casey's hands dropped and she asked, "You need anything from inside or do you have things at the boarding house?"

 

He drew in a breath then tried once more to get to his feet. This time, she helped him up, helping him get his balance. She let go as soon as he had his bearings and he turned to go inside. Then, he turned back and looked at her.

 

She gazed up at him now, her expression serious but not defiant. More like the Casey he knew. He wondered if he'd imagined all the other. Had he actually passed out and dreamed it?

 

He held it for a few seconds, then he nodded. "I know," he said softly. "Reckon I just needed to have time to come to terms with it."

 

He wasn't long inside – didn't need much, really. When he came back out, his horse was saddled and ready.

 

"I loaded the troughs with food for the others," JD said. "We'll get out there tomorrow and check on them if you want."

 

Chris nodded, tossing his saddlebags over the back of the saddle and tying them in. "Thanks. The others back in town yet?"

 

"Nathan came back in yesterday," Casey answered, settling into her own saddle. "Vin's the only we haven't seen."

 

Chris nodded, taking a deep breath before grabbing the saddle horn and pulling himself up. His shoulders protested, and his back was on fire, but he made it. "He'll be there when we get back," he said absently, adjusting his reins and smiling as his horse snorted irritably.

 

"He tell you that?" JD asked as the three of them set off. "I kind of worried that he might not be coming back."

 

"He'll be there," Chris answered, closing his eyes until his body adjusted to the horse's familiar gait. "You all will."

 

"How do you know?" JD asked, and Chris knew the young man was looking at him.

 

Chris shrugged, opened his eyes, and turned to look at JD. "Because that's the kind of men I ride with," he said simply. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Casey nod and smile.

 

Then she touched her heels to her horse and trotted ahead, leading the way.

 

 

 


End file.
